


cheek kisses

by ohhotlamb



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Future Fic, Hugs, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Reunions, University, emotionally vulnerable hajime oh yes, he also curses a teeny bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:56:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb
Summary: “Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwaizumihajimie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaizumihajimie/gifts).



> written for the prompt "maybe like a fluffy reunion where they havent seen each other in a really long time bc different colleges? like an airport scene or a surprise visit or something would be really cute!!" from iwaizumihajimie! sorry it took so long, i hope you like it! <3

It’s an unfamiliar town, the branches bare and skeletal, black against the night sky. The address is written in chicken-scratch on a piece of torn-out notebook paper, the characters beautiful in their chaos. Tooru keeps the bit of home clenched between his fingers, his eyes darting from the written numbers to the ones illuminated on each building he passes. His phone sits heavy and dead at the bottom of his bag, only the paper to guide him. There’s a note at the bottom, and as he walks his eyes keep drifting to it.

_Give him a hug and kiss from me! xoxo_

He smiles, because he fully intends to.

The apartment building seems like it’s the right one—the street and building numbers match up, and while it’s not as pretty as he’d hoped, he supposes little more can be expected of a university student. The walk up the stairs is quiet, the only sound the muted echoing of his feet against metal. Apartment five—no welcome mat, but that’s not a surprise either. He knocks, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to disturb the neighbors. He had taken the last train out, and the moon had long risen by the time he arrived. He’s tired, and his skin feels dirty under his clothes, but there’s also an indescribable excitement. He feels buzzed, and it’s a feeling that spikes when the door opens.

“’ello?”

The unfamiliar boy who answers has a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and his face is wary and guarded—not that Tooru can blame him, because a quick peek at the clock on the kitchen wall tells him it’s just past eleven, well past the sensible time for surprise visitors.  

Tooru puts on his best apologetic smile. “Hi, I’m here to see Iwaizumi Hajime?” The name feels like soft relief on his tongue. “Is he home?”

“He’s taking a shower.” The boy eyes Tooru up and down. “So you’re the best friend, huh?”

He feels inordinately pleased that his reputation precedes him. “That’s me.”

“Right. Well, I’ve heard...great things, about you. Come on in.”

He steps to the side to allow Tooru room to pass—he’s quite a bit shorter, but he’s got a wiry sort of muscle about him. His hair is on the sandy end of brown and he looks at Tooru like ‘great things’ involved armed robberies and stealing from the elderly.

Tooru gestures at the duffel. “Are you going somewhere?”

The boy looks to the bag, hand unconsciously rising to grip onto the strap awkwardly. “Uh, yeah.” He hesitates for a moment before sighing. “Look, it’s nothing against him, and usually he’s like greatest dude ever, I swear to god, but—" he shakes his head, “I dunno, today he’s just in a shit mood. I was gonna crash at my girlfriend’s place for the night. Give him some space, ya know?”

There were very, very few instances in high school (and the many years before) in which Hajime ever took out his frustrations on anyone that wasn’t Tooru himself. Either there was an alien wearing a Hajime suit (regrettably, this was unlikely) or he was stressed out of his mind. Tooru’s betting on the latter.

“I’m pretty good at taming that wild beast. Leave it to me.”

He’s already setting his pack down in the entry way, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back until he feels several satisfying pops. The train ride had lasted longer than he thought, and his limbs tingle with excess energy. Hajime’s roommate stares at him.

“Ah, sure. Good luck, man. Need anything before I head out?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait for him here.”  

“Okay. His room’s the last one on the right.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

The boy leaves, the door swinging shut behind him, and Tooru’s left alone in a strange apartment. It…definitely belongs to two young men. The air smells like fabric softener and the yeast of beer. Two empty cans sit on the kitchen table, and half of the living room consists of clothes lines heavy with damp laundry, the weather being too cold to hang it outside. Tooru can distantly hear the steady thrum of the shower; there’s a loud, muted thud, and a half-formed curse. He’s willing to bet that a dropped bottle just met an unfortunate toe, and he smiles. 

He steps down the hallway as instructed, passing the bathroom door as he does, and he lets his fingers slide across the smooth wood. To be so close is torture. He just wants to see him _so badly._ But he’s waited this long, and the anticipation of a good surprise is what kept him awake during the most boring parts of the train ride. He just keeps picturing Hajime’s face—the surprise, the disbelief, the anger to hide thinly concealed joy.  

The room here in this town is set up nearly identical as the one back in Sendai - the desk underneath the window, a standing lamp beside it. Bed pushed snug into the corner opposite the door, a single flat pillow and tangled sheet. Tooru situates himself on top of it, because making himself at home in places he doesn’t belong is what he’s best at. The room is plain, and boring. But it smells like Hajime—like his deodorant, like the soap he insists is multipurpose no matter how many times Tooru tells him he _cannot_ wash his hair with the same generic brand he uses on his body, _you monster._

He lies down and settles in to wait, closing his eyes and fighting against the day’s exhaustion. One by one, he lets his muscles relax. He melts into this familiar smell, and it’s very easy to pretend that he _is_ home, that both of them are—that Hajime’s just taking a shower after a good practice, and when he’s done the two of them will work on homework, or watch a movie, or kiss on the bed until it’s time to Tooru to go home.

His ears perk at the sound of the shower shutting off; he imagines Hajime going through the process of drying off, first this hair, then his broad shoulders, his stomach, his thighs…

He sits up when the bathroom door opens, and there’s footsteps padding back down the hall. His heart is pounding and there should be a _reason_ to be so suddenly nervous, but there isn’t. He hasn’t seen Hajime’s real-life face in three months now (Skype is great, but it can only satisfy so much) and a part of him wonders—will he look any different? Has his skin gone pale like it usually does this time of year? Will he be surprised? Happy? Angry?

And then he’s there, a towel draped over the back of his neck, and he’s using a corner to pat at stray drops rolling down his bare shoulders. He’s frowning at his doorknob, like he can’t remember whether or not he had closed it before leaving for the bathroom. He looks, well. Stressed. He’s got the shadows under his eyes that, had they been on Tooru’s face, he would have thrown a fit over. With the scowl he’s wearing right now he might as well be on his way to steal all the presents in Whoville. He looks crabby and exhausted and altogether entirely unpleasant.

But he’s beautiful, skin warmed pink beneath his brown skin (that, yes, is several shades lighter than it was during the summer), and the breath catches in Tooru’s throat. Maybe it’s love ( _has_ to be love) because Hajime is a stone’s-throw away from being a bona fide zombie, and Tooru still can’t imagine a single more stunning person on this entire planet.

He means to say something right away. He’s always had a knack for dramatics—he means to jump off the bed, tackle Hajime to the floor, accept with good grace the unavoidable beating he’ll receive for his troubles. But all he can do is stare, quietly, taking him in. Greedily soaking up what he’d been missing. Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder, or at least reminds him of what he already cherishes so fiercely.

(He’s seeing Iwaizumi Hajime in the flesh for the first time in months, and his heart’s so full he can scarcely breathe.)

He doesn’t think he makes any noise, but then again there’s also a very human-shaped object in Hajime’s peripheral vision, because without warning Hajime’s neck is snapping up towards the bed, muscles tensing defensively like he’s preparing for a fight. But it’s not a burglar, and it’s not a demon come to drag him to the underworld, but Tooru. Tooru—his partner, his lover. His best friend.

And he freezes.

And he stays frozen, unblinking, as a slow smile curls up Tooru’s mouth. He stays frozen, even as he makes a strangled noise so funny that Tooru has to bite his lip to keep from collapsing into giggles. The towel slips from Hajime’s neck and it pools on the floor. He smells unbearably good—Tooru can smell him from the bed. It makes him hungry.

“Oikawa.” It’s little more than an exhale, and his arm drops to hang limply at his side.

Tooru tilts his head to the side, smile wolfish, eyes bright with laughter. “Iwa-chan, it’s not very nice to terrorize your roommate. These are the friendships that are supposed to last a lifetime!”

Hajime’s eyes are impossibly wide. “What are you doing here.”

“Oh, right. Surprise!” Belatedly, Tooru jumps off the bed, giving his best shot at jazz-hands.

Hajime continues to just… _stare,_ the silence gone on too long, and for the first time that evening insecurity floods Tooru’s stomach like thick, chunky mud. He swallows, smile faltering. He drops his hands. He was prepared for anger—he’s come unexpected, after all. Unannounced. It’s late at night and Hajime has class tomorrow. That would have been understandable—but what he hadn't been expecting was _disappointment_. He wasn't prepared for an ‘ _I wish you hadn’t’._

He feels cold all over, bites at his lip, trying desperately not to look like a puppy that just got kicked under a bus. He lowers his gaze and ends up staring at Hajime’s bare feet, still planted as solidly as stone in the doorway. “Should…should I…not have?” Did he do something? Was he wrong? Was the feeling—the _longing—_ not mutual?

He takes a long, deep breath, and the next thing he knows the same breath is being forced out of him, the air ripped from his lungs as thick arms are wrapped tight around his middle. Hajime’s bare chest is bright-hot, hard with muscle, the shape of him so painfully familiar that Tooru feels weak.

When Hajime speaks his voice cracks, overwhelmed with emotion. “No, no, _Tooru._ I’m—I’m just… _so_ glad you did.”

And just like that, Tooru feels a sense of peace, of comfort, of _home,_ that he hasn’t felt in far too long. He hugs Hajime back tighter, and tighter, until if it were anyone else he’d worry about cracking a rib. And then he relaxes. He pulls away enough to press a gentle kiss to Hajime’s flushed cheek. “That’s from me,” he whispers, pressing an additional two to Hajime’s forehead, “and those are from your mom.”

Hajime smiles. “When did you see her?”

“This morning. She was the one who gave me your address.”

He’s looking at Tooru like he still can’t believe he’s here—his fingers clutch to the back of his shirt, like he couldn’t bear to have him take a single step away. “She made you breakfast, didn’t she?”

“That woman is a gift,” Tooru sighs, dreamy. He thinks about perfectly done eggs and sausages and his mouth waters a little at the memory.

Slowly, slowly, never letting his eyes wander for a moment, Hajime pulls back, just enough so that his hands slide from Tooru’s back to rest steadily on his hips. “Did Jun let you in?”

Tooru rolls his eyes. “No, Iwa-chan, I broke down your door.”

Hajime looks behind where he came, head tilted, listening. “’s he here?”

“He went to hide at his girlfriend’s place because apparently you’re Mr. Grouch and he couldn’t stand another minute of it.”

Hajime hesitates for a moment, looking briefly guilty, before exhaustion settles back in. “It’s been a long day.”

“Finals this week?”

“Yeah.” He lets out a hard breath, one of the hands leaving Tooru’s hip to rub at his damp hair. “Honestly, it’s just been one shitty thing after another. Today sucked more than usual.”  

That’s what Tooru had assumed, but his chest still blossoms with worry—it pains him to see Hajime suffering like this. He hates seeing him look so weak and tired. He hates the thought of being somewhere else, leaving his most treasured person to struggle on his own.

But he remembers his duffel packed with clothes and toiletries in the entry way; remembers that Hajime doesn’t have to be alone right now, not if he doesn’t want to be.

“Tell you what we’re going to do,” Tooru whispers, wetting his lips. “I’m going to stay here until the term’s over.”

Hajime’s breath catches, and he rushes to refuse. “You can’t—"

Tooru reaches to press a finger to his mouth, quieting him. “No, wait, here me out—it’s just a few days, right? You’re done on Wednesday?”

Hajime nods wordlessly.

“Jun is a nice guy, and he won’t mind. I’m going to help you study for finals. You’re going to kick ass. Then we can go home together.”

Hajime buries his face into the crook of Tooru’s neck and makes a wordless noise of pain.

Tooru runs his hands soothingly over Hajime’s back. “Hmm? What’s wrong? You gotta go to the bathroom?”

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “ _every time_ I see you again I remember how fuckin’ _crazy_ I am about you.”

Tooru holds onto the back of Hajime’ head, fingers threading. He needs a haircut. “You need more pictures of me around here. Maybe that would help.”

He shakes his head, breathless. “’s not the same as seeing you like this.” His lips press where his words fall, under Tooru’s jaw.  “I missed you.”  It’s raw, and honest. It hurts, in a good way.

Tooru closes his eyes. “I missed you, too.”

“It’s so…” he swallows thickly, and Tooru presses kisses, little sparks of comfort all up and down his neck, “hard. And frustrating. Seeing you every day for fifteen years and all of a sudden…not. At all.”

He understands, completely. The little bit of ache that Tooru feels, always, even when he’s happy. There’s always that little _something_ that’s missing—the palm slapping him on the back, that flick of thumb and middle finger against his forehead, those lips that curse and kiss so tenderly.

He smiles, wistful. “I know how you feel.” His fingers feel the individual notches in Hajime’s spine, starting at his neck and working his way down, counting them _, one, two, three_ …“You wanna know something?”

Hajime sighs, brushing his mouth across Tooru’s cheek. “I dunno. Do I?”

He’s reached somewhere around the middle, fingers pressing gently where he feels bone. “I’m thinking about you all the time. Sometimes I drink my coffee black because that’s the way you like it.”

Hajime huffs a laugh, and when he speaks it’s directly against the corner of Tooru’s mouth. His voice has gone soft. “What’s the point in that?”

Quietly: “It tastes like you.”

A kiss, to punctuate this. Soft, and simple, with a single flick of his tongue. He laughs as he pulls away. “Well, right now you taste like beer, but you get what I mean.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, but he hasn’t stopped smiling, and it sets the birds in Tooru’s ribcage fluttering. “You’re the worst romantic I’ve ever met.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Hajime sighs. “God knows why.”

A feeling like champagne bubbles runs up his back, setting the hairs on his arms on end. He lowers his lashes, looking up at Hajime through them. “Keep the compliments comin’, Iwa-chan. I might just let you try something special tonight if you do.” He’s reached the small of Hajime’s back, and before Hajime can reply his hand darts down to give a quick pinch to the muscle of his ass.

Hajime, being Hajime, tackles Tooru to the bed on an instinct to immediately seek revenge. Tooru laughs, and laughs, and laughs, tries to roll away and squeals when he’s pulled right back in. He’s pressed against Hajime’s chest, his face smushed around his collarbone, and he blows a raspberry there just because he can. He digs his fingers into Hajime’s abs, searching for a ticklish spot even though he knows there aren’t any.

Hajime’s voice is so warm and buoyant, stomach twitching away from Tooru’s hands. ”Something special, huh? Like what?”

Tooru looks up, and their faces are close but not so close that Hajime’s eyes blur together—close enough to see the pores on his nose (Tooru will need to work on those later) and the dark stubble starting to show on his chin and above his upper lip.

“I’m feeling adventurous. Why don’t you pick?” he croons, playfully biting at Hajime’s cheek. He kisses at the dimple that appears there at the ensuing smile.

“That’s a lot of responsibility. You sure you wanna trust me with that?”

“I would trust you with my _life.”_ And the thing is, he _would—_ Hajime _knows_  that he would, and his eyes go all molten and gooey and Tooru feels like he’s floating. “You said you missed me, right?” he asks, shoving his foot between Hajime’s calves, twining himself around Hajime’s body like a climbing vine.

Hajime, thankfully, stopped being embarrassed about these sorts of conversations somewhere around their second year together. He barely bats an eye, letting one side of his mouth quirk with a grin. “I might have.”

“See, I was brainstorming. That you should start thinking about this long-distance thing in a different way.”

His head tilts, and Tooru pulls him in as close as he’ll go. “Like what?”

“That it’s just three more years. Three measly years. Which means we don’t really have much time left as university students, if you think about it.”

His eyes have dimmed a little bit at the reminder—that this reunion won’t last forever, that in a few weeks they’ll be back where they started. Back to walking to class alone in the mornings. Skype calls instead of after-school studying. Far too many _I miss you’s_ and _I wish you were here’s._

Tooru plows forward, wanting Hajime to see the glimmers of light at the edges of this very dark, very black separation. “I want you to make as many memories as you can. Make more friends than you know what to do with. Become the captain of your volleyball club and crush every team you meet. In my honor, of course.”

Hajime snorts.

“Be happy. Write me love letters. Send me pictures of the dogs you see on the street. I want you to think of me a lot, but think of other things, too. Don’t get caught up by the little stuff. Don’t try to wish the time away.” He gathers Hajime’s hands in his own, bringing them to his mouth. Kisses across his knuckles. “And then, in three years, we both graduate. And then we’re together again.”

His smile’s gone a little tired, a little sad, and his lips brush the tip of Tooru’s nose. “How can you be so sure?”

“This is true love. You think this happens every day?”

Hajime’s eyes narrow. “You stole that from a movie.”

“Guilty as charged.”

At Hajime’s continuous glower, Tooru sets a kiss between his furrowed brows. “C’mon, you really think after all this time I’m letting you get away from me?”

“Don’t be creepy.”

“Why? Do you _want_ to leave?”

Hajime smiles, warm and soft and _sure._ “Never, not in a million years.”

And Tooru curls himself closer, because that’s something they both can agree on.

**Author's Note:**

> the title is what i named the word document and i had trouble thinking of something else, so this is what i ended up with hahahaha 
> 
> sorry that tooru quoted the princess bride but that part wrote itself honestly
> 
> ohhotlamb.tumblr.com


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